


Batman: The Awakening

by TowerofBabel



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dick has a bizarre dream, Dick is suspiciously naked in a church, Gen, Jason Todd deflies a communion dish, Mind Games, Other, Philosphical discussion, Religious Discussion, Smoking in a church?, Who is Dick Grayson?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27712424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowerofBabel/pseuds/TowerofBabel
Summary: Dick Grayson experiences a bizarre dream where an image of Jason Todd has entered his subconscious mind.  Jason represents a part of Dick that he often represses for obvious reasons. Philosophical discussion ensues in a church where Dick suddenly finds himself naked, and Jason, as a priest, deflies the church smoking at the altar. They discuss who Dick wants to be and how to go further with his life after being shot in the head. Erstwhile, Dick tries to bring to the surface a secret that he knows about Scarecrow and his deadly Fear Germ that he had forgotten after his attempted assassination coup.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Kudos: 7





	Batman: The Awakening

Dick Grayson awoke with a start. He looked straight ahead from where he lay and found himself staring at an elongated piece of wood attached beneath a bench of some sort. With more clarity, he learned the bench was actually a church pew.

He reached out and saw it was fitted with blue padding. Then he looked around, across five sets of pews, and immediately realized he was in a church or a chapel. Placing a hand on the pew he hauled himself up and saw he wasn't wearing any clothes, no wonder he felt a chill. He covered his lower region with a hand and then sat up on the pew.

_Oh Jesus! How the heck did I get here? And why, for heavens sake, Am I naked in a House of God?_

Peering around, he saw it was a large church with room for over three-hundred people with an arch buttress-style roof, decorative columns, and stain glass embedded in the surrounding walls depicting biblical figures and scenes from the Holy Book.

And for that moment, he felt disappointed in himself for not visiting church more often. His parents had been church-goers and went to sermons every Sunday when they were held at Haly's Circus in a make-shift tent. His ancestors were Gypsy/Roma, which meant when they originally settled in Scotland, they adopted the dominated religion of the time. But when they moved to America, and to Gotham, he was brought up Christian like his brother Mitch. His grandfather, he was told, was a non-practising Presbyterian.

But that was neither here nor there now.

Over the years, he had found himself waning from the faith. Not because he didn't believe, but he didn't have a lot of time to think about it with crime fighting. He knew the all forgiving Lord would understand. Church was a place for prayer and to hear inspiring words of the Lord, but not everyone needed to go to church to believe. The heart was where the Lord truly resided, and Dick believed this whole-heartedly.

Just a moment ago, he had been facing Scarecrow on his knees—

_Now…_

At the front of the church, elevated by a stage above the main wooden flooring, silhouetted by brightness that was illuminated through two large stain-glass windows separated by a large cross, stood a young-looking priest in black attire, standing behind a large altar—or to some: a communion table—the altar covered with a white cloth. He had an open bible in one hand and in the other…a cigarette, for which he took a puff. Smoke bellowed out from the clergyman's mouth.

On the altar, was a gold plated bowl normally used to pass out the communion "bread" during later parts of a sermon, known as the Body of Christ, but right now, it was being used as an ashtray.

Dick knew of only one person who would do such a thing and defile a church by smoking in its humble abode. "Father, you do realize smoking is prohibited in the House of the Lord," Dick said it not as a question, but as a statement.

The young priest shut his bible, the sound echoed in the empty space, and then turned around. He was not so young, but he was young enough for head of a congregation. He had black hair, except for a large tuff of white in front. He wore the black attire of a priest with its white collar, but he was no priest that would ever last for long with all his bad habits.

Jason Todd took a puff from his cigarette, blew out smoke, and then extinguished it in the gold bowl. "My son…" he then said. "Or rather, my naked son—you're popular with the ladies, Dick, but this is something new. But we're all naked in the eyes of the Lord, I guess."

"Cute," Dick replied sarcastically.

Jason tugged the altar cloth off like some magician and then tossed it across the room, leaving the bowl in place. Dick caught it. It was unorthodox and refined, but Dick used it to wrap himself with, and then stood on his feet, crossing into the isle.

"How did I get here?" Dick asked, looking towards Jason. Jason lit another cigarette. Dick ignored the sheer ignorance of what he was doing and glanced around. "I'm absolutely confused. The last thing I remember is…Scarecrow standing over me; and me, on my knees; and Crane's hand positioned like a gun…saying: "Bang! You're dead, _hero_ …"

"Are _you_ dead?" Jason asked causally.

"How the heck should I know? But I don't think…so."

But judging by his state and lack of clothes, maybe…

Jason walked across the platform and then took a step down, he clutched the bible in hand as if it was very precious. It didn't have the words: Holy Bible on the cover, just a golden cross that was centred on its hardcover encasement.

Now that Dick thought about it, as he looked around again, quite a few things in this church were golden—from a lot of the leaflets and decor in the stain-glass windows, to the top of the columns, to even the cross on the altar cloth he now used to cover himself.

 _Gold…_ It triggered something in his mind—something important, something he had forgotten. But it wasn't quite at the surface yet.

Jason had been a priest for a short time, but his conduct was unbecoming for a man of the cloth. Jason even admitted, despite a momentarily lapse in judgement, he had joined the priesthood to get away from his violent past. But it wasn't meant to be. Now, here, Jason was dressed as a priest—why, Dick didn't know—and Jason proved, without a doubt, just how unfit he was for the role.

Smoking in church was beyond a simple infraction.

"Do you remember anything else?" Jason asked, using a finger to flick some ashes to the floor.

"Hey!" Dick protested. "You really are a piece of work, Jason."

"Some call me something else. But let's get back to the question at hand. We're both here by your bequest. Believe it or not, you're dreaming, Dick, and somehow you brought us both to this place. It may look like a church, but its more of a sanctuary for your mind. A place you created, where you often get away from it all—to be alone, to think, to reflect, and to hide from your troubles." Jason pointed at Dick, at his nakedness. "To get to the raw, uncovered, truth of things, so to speak."

"Why a church? I'm not much of a religious person. My parents were, but I'm bad for not visiting the church more."

"This is just a place, God is in our hearts. You must have seen this church somewhere in your travels. You felt safe there and it just happen to stick in your mind for a place to go when your mind was in need of solitude. And you and I both know, this isn't the first time you've visited _here_."

Dick nodded. And then said, "If this is _my_ safe place, then loose the cigarette."

Jason rolled his eyes and then dropped it to the floor and put it out with a boot. Dick did take a puff every once in a while, but it was secret. Jason smoking must have be a representation of that bad habit, nicotine was known to often relax people. Jason, also, could be someone whom he needed to talk with—someone who expressed a more open opinion of things. Despite their obvious differences and philosophies, Jason always listened and presented points of view Dick was too scared to materialize.

"Okay, I'm here…in my safe place, but how did I get here? Why did I pull myself away from where I was?"

"Because Scarecrow was working you hard," Jason explained. "But because you can't remember, I can't reveal it either. It's called repressed memory. But with Crane, he probably wanted to take you into the depths of despair like he did the last time."

"He made me felt like crap the last time I was subjected to one of his psycho-drugs—that everything I did, everything I was, meant nothing, and I should just kill myself. That Bruce considered me a failure and that's why he choose you as my successor for Robin. That it wasn't my choice I left his side, but that he had kicked me out for being too weak. I never did like his brutal methods."

"You and I both know, you're far from weak, Dick. But once again, Crane has hit you with one of his psycho-drugs, this new Fear Germ that's going around—and it's quite nasty. He saw an opportunity to strike, and he took it, and to silence you."

"Silence me? Why?"

That feeling that he had forgotten something very important came to the surface again. But whatever it was, he couldn't quite grasp it yet. He tried to think back to before all the recent events.

Crane was plaguing Gotham City with his Fear Germ, he remembered telling Barbara something about it, a vital clue he had found, before he was struck down, hit with amnesia after surgery was performed on him, and those damn implants were placed in his brain, causing his radical personality shift.

"He's probably trying to assess what you know, or if you do know anything at all, and then try to silence you from telling anyone else…" Jason surmised. "What you told Barbara was just a hypothesis, nothing more. But I only know what you know, or what you think you know…"

"And you're here to help me talk things out with myself in my safe space?"

Jason shrugged. "You come to me sometimes for unorthodox answers to questions, but you always make the final decision. You and I have a history, but you still blame yourself for not being there when Joker killed me. You need to get past that. It's like a cancer in your mind, like this germ in your body. Forget about it. Crime fighting is a dangerous and risky business, and you know the ancient saying: Heroes often fall. It's never like those espionage novels where the spy always foils the villain's plot. More often than naught, the bad guy wins. And then the hero learns from his mistakes and defeats the villain next time."

"Like a revolving door," Dick agreed. "We put the criminals away and then they just come back bigger and badder than ever."

"The justice system has its problems, but that's why we're out there—to fill the void where loopholes in the law exist. We both have out methods, mine is a little more extreme."

"Extreme? Your last "method" nearly killed Penguin. While I sometimes don't see eye-to-eye with you, what Bruce did was wrong. He shouldn't have attacked you afterwards—"

"And beat the crap out of me like publishing a child? You don't like his methods, but you respect them. However, you do wish for some finality in what you do, and that you've been thinking about something for a while, haven't you?"

Dick sighed and nodded. "Semi-retirement," he said. "I've been thinking about it more and more lately, and most recently before this latest rogue attack against me. I love Barbara so much and I want to protect her, but I can't do that if I'm galavanting around, fighting criminals all the time. I was thinking of re-joining the New Bludhaven Police Department. After the city was destroyed, it needs people like me to help rebuild and enforce the law." He gave a humorous snort. "Your better is actually working for them right now in their drug enforcement division, hunting down new drug syndicates."

"At least, I'm helping out," Jason said. "God, I could really kill for a cigarette right now."

Dick shared his sentiments. His mind felt like it was racing a mile a minute, still trying to remember what he had forgotten, and he needed something to help calm himself—like a cigarette. But he refused to give in, knowing his thoughts would give purchase to Jason lighting one up.

"But you'd never do that," Jason continued. "You're not the kind of person to leave in the middle of a fight. And right now, Damian is fighting on your behalf—as Nightwing Junior. He's a stubborn, little piece of shit, that kid. He once told you you'd never be a proper Batman, and if you couldn't handle the job, to just quit, and he'd take over the mantle. Didn't he?"

"But I didn't quit," Dick said, nodding, "and I guess that makes me stubborn, as well. This kid comes out of nowhere and tells me I'm no good? I knew right then and there that I had to set Damian straight. So, I persevered, and overcame the problems that came with fitting into Bruce's shoes, and we eventually became a good team—the new Dynamic Duo. Tim tried, and it didn't work out; so did you. You and Tim both quit the role, because it got too overtaking. They couldn't handle the pressure."

Jason pointed at Dick. "And that makes you strong—even stronger than the rest—Dick, because you're not a quitter. And it's not your time to lay down and die yet. Right now, you're laying in a hospital bed, fighting against Crane's Fear Germ. You need to get up, and fight it. I think Franklin Roosevelt said it best: 'The only thing we have to fear is Fear itself'."

"But what can I do? Please, give me some advise." He gestured to the Bible Jason held. "Read me something inspirational, to help me—I feel a little lost. If I leave here, I'll just be thrown back to Crane—to where I was before I came here—and I won't be able to help anyone. He's trying to make me believe my family died as a result of me, my actions. It's been so long, I can't remember…"

"Memory is a funny thing, you can only recall what you know…"

Jason opened the Bible and flipped through the pages. There were missing lines of text. Dick felt a pang of guilt that he hadn't actually read the good book, but merely listened to passages or words from priests when they were recited, or quotes he had read online, or what others spoke from within. So, his knowledge of the Holy Book was incomplete.

Jason continued, "You were a kid at the time your parents died. Tony Zucco, a gangster, killed them, but not because of you. It was because he wanted the circus's cash take for the day. But when he was refused, he make an example out of The Flying Grayson's. Where you were, or what you were doing at the time, made no difference on the outcome. You would've died, too, if you were up there with your family on the trapeze when Zucco shot the tether line. It was not—repeat—not your fault."

Dick nodded. If he recalled, he had to use the washroom before the big performance of the night.

Jason went on: "Think of the mind like a computer: it stores information biologically-algorithmic. The brain generates pathways every time your senses experience something new and files information in the long or short term, its importance decided on the person who collects it. Sometimes, however, injuries to the brain damages neurons and information is forgotten. Thought re-education is then needed to regain the information lost. You can't recall something when the brain is damaged in a certain area—even though experts do say the brain remembers everything. However, the human brain does give us clues of what we have forgotten, through unconscious thought, like missing pieces of a puzzle. A symbolic gesture to be used as a trigger for the unconscious mind to bring memories to the surface for the conscious mind to make sense of them again. You had the answer to Crane's Fear Germ, once. You only forgot, or it's been jarred loose. It's time to bring it back."

"Thanks, Professor Tim. So, what can I do to bring that information back?"

Suddenly, from the pews, a collective group of…little people dressed like munchkins from one of his favourite movies: The Wizard of Oz, emerged, and started to dance around Dick in a circle, and then they began to sing a familiar tune: "Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road…follow, follow, follow, follow… _follow_ the yellow brick road."

He remembered his dream, when the munchkins ran around him. But they didn't sing then, instead they created a whirlwind of sorts, spiralling him, enveloping him, as if creating a protective barrier from danger—one of whom gave him a weapon: a gun.

In the same dream with the munchkins, he also encountered both Cluemaster and Blockbuster, and then a dark mysterious villain who controlled lightning—which later, he deciphered, as being an ex-Spyral agent who went rogue, named Jake Handles, who developed lighting gloves he weaponized that used electricity much like lightning strikes.

Then he had another dream about Captain Cold, but that was just chalked up to his head being cold.

 _Funny how dreams work,_ Dick thought.

"And what of Jake Handles?" Jason then asked, as if reading his mind.

Previously, Dick had remembered hearing voices, even though he was in bed, sedated. He knew sometimes people in a coma could hear the voices of loved ones even though they were asleep and couldn't respond. Tim and Barbara had been talking about Jake Handles and Spyral's ultra secret cubby-hole, where they stored all their most high-tech: Treasure Island.

His mind raced— _the yellow brick road, Treasure Island_ —and then it hit him like a gold brick.

And he had the answer: the cure of Crane's Fear Germ.

"Memory associations are a wonderful thing to help you remember things," Dick smiled in recollection.

One of the munchkins then stopped and handed him a golden bullet.

He smiled now, because this munchkin looked just like his young daughter Mar'i had with Starfire in an alternative universe. All these multiverses confused him, but he was aware of them nonetheless. Earth-22, he recalled.

"Thank you, sweetie," he said, and Mar'i smiled.

His prior dream basically had generic munchkins, but for a split moment when he thought of his own little "munchkin" here—even though she resided in another realm, whom he missed terribly, and if it wasn't for his memory being restored he would've forgotten her—Mar'i had suddenly materialized amongst the generic group. He wasn't sure, but when he thought about the munchkins, Mar'i's remembrance was trying to come through, because she was very important to him. He once called her his "little munchkin" because she was so small at the time. He would have to see if he could contact Earth-22 and see how Mar'i was doing. He was sure The Justice League could help with that.

In his other hand materialized the gun he had been given in the other dream, both dreams now seemed to coalesce. He took out the magazine from the gun and put the bullet in the chamber, then cocked the weapon.

Suddenly, the gun reshaped itself into a syringe with a golden liquid—the cure Gotham City needed to the Fear Germ.

He remembered what he had told Barbara now, and it all stemmed from a medical journal article he just happened to read the night before. It had to do with the medicinal properties of gold. Gold had been used for centuries as a cure of ailments, infections, and recovery from germs in small qualities.

Most people thought of gold as large bricks found in places like Fort Knox, Kentucky. But gold had untapped healing properties, as well. In minute doses, gold released electrons—negatively charged particles into the body that could kill cancer cells, breaking down rogue cell reproduction. In some cases, it would completely erode cancer cells to the point other drugs would finish the job, to the point of complete eradication. And with what he knew of Crane's Fear Germ, his theory had a pretty good chance of panning out.

The munchkins disappeared once their purpose had ended, his memories fully restored. Mar'i disappeared, but she still had a smile on her face, and she mouthed something he couldn't quite make out, but looked like: "I love you, Daddy."

He took a moment, then returned to the now. He had one other thing to solve: _Who shot me?_

But one name instantly came to mind and he had the skill to do it. Others also had the skill, too.

"So, do you have the full picture now?" Jason wondered, closing the Bible.

"Almost," Dick replied. "I can't do anything about Jake Handles at the moment, but I can stop Crane."

Jason winked. "I'm glad we had this talk," he said, handing the Bible over to Dick. It was symbolic and he was saying he should fill in the missing text. "But you've always been one to talk things out, especially when it comes to issues of importance. You don't like holding things in. Corny jokes aside, you're quite a serious guy."

"When something's important to me, I'm always serious," Dick said. "I make jokes to relieve tension. It also distracts my enemies."

Jason nodded. He then lit a cigarette and puffed out a plum of smoke, and whether it was on purpose, which was highly unlikely, or it was simply Dick's imagination, the smoke spare out in the form of a giant bat.

 _The Bat Symbol_.

Gotham City needed his help.

* * *

It was like waking up from a dream, but he had just crossed from dream into another.

He was on his knees surrounded by a ghostly mist generated by the horrific machinations of Scarecrow, or rather, the fear the man generated, but his hallucinating drugs were the real threat, accosting the senses of Crane's potential victims.

The villain stood over Dick.

Scarecrow's arm was extended, his hand forming the image of a gun with index finger and thumb. "Bang! You're dead, _hero_ …" he said. "Everything you once held dear is… _gone_."

There was a momentarily fog, then Dick's senses suddenly buzzed with an intensity, awoken from a brief assault on his conscious mind. This was his mind, Dick asserted, and it was about time he finally took back control of it.

He reached up he grabbed Scarecrow's wrist and squeezed hard. Crane gasped shocked.

Now dressed as Nightwing—his mind instantly manifesting his superhero persona—Dick got to his feet and faced the intimidating villain who took the image of the beloved character from one of his favourite movies. Crane grabbed his arm as Nightwing pushed the man down to his knees, and with Crane's thin body, it didn't take much to overcome him. Without his drug-induced influence, Dr. Jonathan Crane was nothing.

"But, _wait!_ How?"

"Time's up, Crane," Nightwing said, looking directly into the eyeholes of Scarecrow's mask. "I now have the Midas Touch."

He had the syringe with the golden liquid in hand he'd obtained from his other dream and showed it to Crane. Crane's eyes seemed to widen with both shock and realization.

"Wait! How did you get that?"

Then Nightwing stabbed Crane's arm with it, depressing the plunger fully.

Crane cried out.

Suddenly, Crane's hand was enveloped in an encasement of gold, as it, at first, began to wrap around his arm like a serpent.

Nightwing let go of the villain, and Crane followed the serpent as it slithered up his arm, hitting his own body, as if trying to swat it away like an insect. Once his arm was completely enveloped, the serpent reached his upper chest, and subsequently began to descend to envelope his torso and legs. Then it worked quicker—like it was eradicating a disease as Crane weakened. Crane continued to swat at the golden serpent until it got to his neck, his arms immobile now, and with one last gasp, he cursed Nightwing.

Once completely covered, Crane knelt frozen to the spot with a ghastly horror on his face like a statue forever still. Then Nightwing kicked Crane and shattered him into a million broken pieces, not unlike that of a tumour cell when it was ripped apart by medicine, as it's DNA fibres were destroyed.

Nightwing looked at the empty syringe in his hand, there was a drop of the cure left. He would carry the knowledge back with him. He just hoped his dream cure turned into reality when he woke up.

* * *

(Chapter 17 from my Batman Novel: "Nightwing Junior")

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 17 from my novel Nightwing Junior.


End file.
